


Stars and Wine

by tanigaki



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: M/M, You'll see what I mean, almost smut but not quite, vaguely established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 04:57:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13240905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanigaki/pseuds/tanigaki
Summary: It seemed somewhat petty to hold a ball in the middle of a war but the prince was never one to hold back from theatrics.





	Stars and Wine

Fernand never knew that formal occasions could be so stifling. 

It seemed somewhat petty to hold a ball in the middle of a war but the prince was never one to hold back from theatrics. And now every Rigelian knight had to make at least a minimal appearance if they didn't wish to have their loyalty questioned. Fernand was directly under the command of Berkut so he knew quite well that he had to remain present for the entire ball. His position had a silver lining however; nobody dared to question his place since Berkut had so clearly taken him under his wing, even if he was a Zofian. No one in their right mind dared to question the actions of the prince. 

Unfortunately, the fact that he solely served Berkut meant that he knew not a soul in the place, save for the prince himself. Fernand had resigned himself to the edge of the ballroom when the grand doors were opened and Berkut finally made his entrance. 

In a word, he was beautiful. Berkut was the very image of regal power. His face was calm but intimidating, his mouth set in a firm line and his gaze overwhelming to all that caught his eye. He was dressed in a fitted vest, deep purple with black embroidery, matching a flowing violet cape that just barely swept the floor behind him. His white blouse was cinched at the wrists but loose in the arms, making every one of his movements appear dramatic and important. Knee-high boots and tight pants caught Fernand’s eye, but he averted his gaze. This was not a night for such distractions. He was here to serve his prince; to exude loyalty and devotion to one man and one man alone. Words filtered through his ears as Berkut gave a lengthy speech to the crowd, demanding silence and attention from the entire ballroom. 

_ He really is a born leader,  _ Fernand thought to himself. 

He vaguely scanned the guests, recognizing very few faces. Even among nobles of similar or identical status, he felt very alone. But with nearly every face rapt with attention to Berkut, he found a small connection between himself and the guests: adoration and awe towards the prince. He wouldn’t call himself the jealous type but he felt a small urge to whisk Berkut away from the prying eyes of this rabble, to hold him close so that the two of them would see only each other. 

Sudden applause broke him from his reverie before it could get too heated (thank the gods) and he joined in the clapping. Berkut’s speeches were all fairly similar when it came to crowds like this, saving his impassioned rants for much more selective company. Half of the words he spoke to these nobles were false anyways--he knew very well that the war was tipping out of their favour and tensions were on the rise. But Fernand knew that Berkut would do anything to become emperor, so lying to these naïve fools was no issue whatsoever. He watched the prince greet heavily-jewelled lords and ladies, flashing a charming grin and kissing the hands of the women who approached him. His shirt collar felt tight at the sight and he turned away, walking off to find a drink. 

The night dragged on, with Fernand only catching glimpses of Berkut or his flowing cape while he participated in idle conversation here and there. Fernand felt as though he may have been spoiled back in Zofia, for the nobles here spoke dryly and always seemed to be hiding something. After a particularly awkward conversation with some duke who’d had far too much to drink, Fernand retreated to the balcony. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that it was empty. He was in desperate need of some space, and the cool night air was calm and welcoming. The balconies in the castle were wider than the doors leading back into the ball, so Fernand favoured the edge, a brush of ivy against the sleeve of his shirt but the noise and chatter of the crowd inside muffled by the wall. He leaned over the edge, elbows resting against the stone railing. 

Then he suddenly felt cold fingers trail across his lower back, making him jump slightly. He turned to see Berkut settle beside him, a sly grin on his face. 

“A pleasure to see you, Fernand. I had a great deal of trouble spotting you inside.” said Berkut. 

“That is to be expected in such a large number of people, milord.” Fernand replied. 

Berkut hummed in agreement, looking out into the night sky. The stars were bright enough to reflect in his dark eyes and Fernand’s breath caught in his throat. He often found himself speechless at times like these, when the prince's beauty felt overwhelming. Fernand didn't want to stare but  _ gods _ … he couldn't tear himself away. Berkut must have felt his charge’s eyes on him, as he moved closer to stand shoulder to shoulder, and interlaced their fingers. 

“Ah, milord…” Fernand said softly, and nodded his head in the direction of the ball still going on behind them. Berkut squeezed his hand tighter. 

“Do you really think any of those weak-willed fools would dare say a word against me?” He huffed, his voice sounding a bit irritated. “If I am to be emperor then I ought to have my say in all matters, including my own actions.” 

Fernand understood what he meant, and hoped that he understood what the prince was insinuating as well. He dragged his fingers lightly across Berkut’s arm before asking:

“Does that mean that I can kiss you?”

Berkut grinned and leaned over, meeting Fernand’s mouth the second he finished speaking. Fernand softened, returning the kiss and snaking his arms over the prince's shoulders. 

“Ah, unfair...” His attempt at scolding Berkut between kisses was weak at best, as the brunette could definitely feel the smile pulling at his lips. Fernand felt Berkut’s cold hands return to his lower back, before finding their favourite place: his waist. Berkut always seemed to hold him there, whether it be a sudden meeting in a dark alcove of the castle or a simple attempt to gain his attention. Either way, Fernand adored it. It was like the prince was trying to keep him to himself, as if Fernand could suddenly catch the eye of some other noble and leave his side. Fernand reveled in these small moments of possessiveness, savouring the knowledge and satisfaction that Berkut not only wanted him, but wanted him all to himself. 

Fernand was pulled from his thoughts as he felt himself being pushed backwards, closer to the corner of the balcony and, by consequence, further from the doors back to the ball. Berkut kissed him hungrily, slipping his tongue past his lips to meet the blonde’s. The ivy rustled as Fernand's back hit the wall and Berkut pressed closer into his space. 

“Oh  _ gods,  _ Berkut…” Berkut’s mouth moved to his throat and Fernand groaned, moving his hands to feel along the waistband of the prince's pants. “I’ve been wanting to tear these clothes off of you all night.”

He felt Berkut's lips form a smile against his neck before biting down against his sensitive skin. Fernand quickly muffled his mouth with a hand as to not cry out. 

_ Damn this prince… _ Fernand thought to himself, silently cursing Berkut's knowledge of his many weaknesses. He knew very well that Fernand was sensitive on his neck, and used that information to his advantage whenever possible. Berkut’s hands tightened around his waist, pressing his back firmly against the wall. Then Fernand choked on air as he felt the prince’s thigh press roughly against his groin. His hands scrambled for purchase at the cape draped over Berkut’s back, attempting to ground himself as his knees went weak. Adoration and desire flooded his heart--Berkut truly had a hold over him. Fernand kissed Berkut, moaning low into his mouth, and ground against his thigh. A voice in his head was screaming about just how damn easily they could be caught like this but then Berkut bit his lip and his mind went silent. Berkut’s grip on his waist tightened, and then pushed him down directly against his thigh. Fernand’s breath was becoming uneven, his mind spinning with lust and need for contact. He pulled Berkut closer, pressing their chests together and moving to kiss his neck. He bit down, and held back a grin when he heard Berkut groan next to his ear. 

“Fernand…” Berkut’s voice was a low warning, nearly a whisper, but Fernand could hardly heed his warning while the prince was still grinding him against his thigh. He couldn’t even care if he marked Berkut’s neck; he could hardly think straight, much less control his desires. A part of him  _ wanted _ to leave marks, a necklace of bites and bruises, just to see the looks on the faces of the straight-laced Rigelian nobles inside. To think that their almighty prince was fucking his charge, and a Zofian at that. Something inside Fernand almost desired to be caught, simply to gain that satisfaction. His breath hitched, his own thoughts making him even more aroused. 

Then suddenly Berkut stepped away. Fernand’s back slid part-way down the wall, his shaking knees barely able to support him without Berkut’s strong grip. 

“M-Milord?” He choked out, his mind still spinning. Berkut straightened his collar and brushed off his pants before speaking.

“It would be a shame to ruin such a nice outfit, would it not?” He said with a grin. “Really, Fernand, you would think that a man of your status would understand the importance of appearances.”

Fernand groaned, crumpling to the ground. Berkut kneeled in front of him, pushing a piece of Fernand’s hair back into place before taking his hand and pressing a light kiss to his knuckles. 

“I hope to see you back inside, my dear.” He spoke almost mockingly, knowing full well the situation he was leaving Fernand in. Then he stood and walked back inside. Fernand heard laughter and the clinking of glasses alongside the blood rushing through his ears. He sighed, leaning his head back to look at the stars, and cursed Berkut’s teasing. He would get his payback eventually, he would make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> these two are gonna be the fuckin end of me


End file.
